Sex Happens
by Pepperstasia Beaverhausen
Summary: A tale in which Mulder and Scully have slips of morality...


title: Sex Happens

author: Pepperstasia Beaverhausen, formerly known as gillianinchains

categories: RST, angst, MSR, Scully POV

rating: R

summary: events that happen over a set period of time in which M&S

have slips of morality

spoilers: over half season six and into season seven, s-8 does barely

exists in Mulder fanfic-land

author's notes: I decided to write a smutbiscuit sans the partying

this time. Every once in a while you have to alternate. And with

that...enjoy! Oh, and they aren't mine!

I remember the first time it happened. After Mulder and I

returned to our basement offices, I guess we found a way to

celebrate. Not everyone would agree that Mulder pressing me up

against the file cabinet and doing me down and dirty on his desk with

a stapler in my back is a *normal* way to do things, then again,

Mulder and I can hardly be classified as your normal, everyday

people. Our attraction had finally spilled over precipice, if that

makes any sense. It was bound to happen, when two relatively

attractive people work together closely for that long a time.

At least, that was our reasoning for the time for

actions. Oh my, but it was good, though. He took me completely by

surprise as he just suddenly dropped the files he was moving in,

gripped me by my shoulders and started kissing me with an urgency

that quickly turned to much, much more. It was fast, intense, and

very passionate, one of those life-affirming instances that tend to

happen after all the hell we went through separated from (and getting

back into) the X-Files. At any rate, after it was over, we both

agreed that it wasn't a bad thing that we had done, however, it

wasn't necessarily something that should be done ever again for the

greater good of our jobs.

"At least we got that pesky sexual tension out of the

way." I remember Mulder commenting after.

The fact is, when the sex is *that* good, it's like

eating Lay's potato chips; you can never do it just once. The

tension, in actuality, doubles.

The second time occured our first case back, when we had

to act like a married couple in order to investigate a couple's

disappearance in on of those planned communities. It was inevitable,

looking back on it. Mulder walked in on me while I was changing in

the bathroom the second day of assignment, our first morning on the

job. I was in my bra and panties and was actually bending over to

pull up my slacks when he came behind me and wordlessly pressed his

boxer encased erection into my backside. The next thing I knew I was

up against the wall and his cock was up and inside me, my legs

wrapped around his waist as we practiced the much lauded wall-sex

position, shuddering and slumping to the floor upon completion. Then

it was as if we aquired amnesia, after our breathing calmed down we

simply picked ourselves up, quietly cleaned ourselves off and got

dressed. We made absolutely no mention of our *slip* the rest of the

case, and did behave ourselves for quite a while.

In the meantime, though, my thought processes were

consumed on our prior discrepancies. I could think of nothing but the

way he kissed, the way he felt, how he smelled; all things I tried

and nontheless failed to put in the back of my mind. It was maddening

at times, working together, being so close I could almost taste him,

and having to hold the urge to do so back and away.

Temptation is truly a bitch.

A couple of very, very uncomfortable months passed after

that second incident, until we found ourselves on a certain baseball

field for a "late or early" birthday present for yours truly. It was

deafening, being that close, him standing behind me, teaching me how

to swing a bat as his front length pressed into my back. We would've

been fine; however, the kid feeding us the balls had to leave and

without that supervision, we were a lost pair. We had the ball feeder

on automatic, just hitting balls when his lips bent down and grazed

the back of my neck.

I actually shuddered, before spinning around in his arms

and latching my lips to his. We ended up half-walking, half-making-

out to my car, satisfying our baser instincts once there and fogging

up my windows for a good hour or so before apologizing to each other

and going our seperate ways.

Declaring silently amnesia once more, we decided to

forget the whole sex thing ever happened.

I'm unsure of *why* we were so adamant to deny our

attraction, although I suppose I could say we were trying to salvage

our partnership and our profound commitment to our quest for Truth

and Justice.

I was beginning to get *so* sick of truth and justice.

If it was a person, I would've shot it.

It began to dawn on me that he might be using me

according to proximity, and I began to feel not like he needed me,

but rather, my body. This may have not been true, but when you love

someone as much as I do Mulder, it becomes disheartening when they

express physical need one minute and either deny it or push you away

the next. Especially when they look as good as he does, tastes as

good, and somehow always smells deliciously of sex. They should

bottle his scent. They could call it eau de fucking. I swore to

myself to try to not even think about it anymore. Mulder is my *best

friend*. Having Sex with your best friend is wrong.

It was moot,however. My thought processes still could

not shake the slideshow of images: his head between my legs, or his

fingers undoing my blouse, or his hands gripping my ass as he thrust

into me against the wall...it was hell, but I maintained pure

civility. Can you imagine spending every day with someone you had

great sex with and have to *not* touch them? I wouldn't wish this on

my worst enemy.

Then Mulder got that "condition" where his mind went

insane from that alien?biblical? ancient artifact rubbing, and I

ended up on the Ivory Coast in Africa, desparate to save him. I was

wrung out, physically and emotionally, dying inside because I was

*that close* to losing him again. I mean, good sex is good sex, but I

love him, you know? The sex thing was just a really, really awesome

icing on the Muldercake.

After telling him the news about Diana that morning (I

really did hate her, but she did help Mulder, so in the end I felt

genuinely bad that she died. I would like to add that in no way does

that condone for her actions concerning coming in between Mulder and

I's relationship, however), I realized that I needed to bait him and

see if felt the way I did. I didn't want to tell him that having an

intimate relationship is exactly what I want though. I thought it

best if he were the first one to say it; I don't wear desparation

well.

So I went to his apartment that night. He seemed pretty

happy to see me. My back was aching like crazy because of all the

tension and travelling I had been through, so Mulder suggested we go

lay down on his new mattress and talk. Uh-huh. You know where this is

heading.

"Your back still tense, Scully?"

"Yeah." I was laying on my stomach, and suddenly there

he was, giving me this really great, slow back massage, his legs

straddling my torso and I could feel his erection start to grow

against my backside. Dammit.

I really did mean to say something beforehand. I

would've been homefree, too, if he hadn't ran his finger slo-o-wly up

my spine. Mu back arched involuntarily, lifting my ass slightly off

the bed, and I could hear *his* breathing get hitched and off-kilter.

He had even undid my bra, (he mumbled something in my ear about it

being in the way) and meanwhile, his hands were continuing to throw

off the logical side of my brain, trailing circles down my sides, his

fingertips grazing the sides of my breasts, that erection still

pressing into my bottom. My breathing started getting erratic as

well, and I think he really *did* try to keep it innocent because he

moved from straddling to laying down next to me, still doing my back,

but his efforts were beginning to turn rather half-assed.

I moved my head to face his, and this was our downfall.

He looked just so...edible. The puppy look was there on his face, his

eyes were dark with need, and his mouth kept tempting me. "Kiss me

Dana", it seemed to say with it's pout.

In essense, we ended up pretty much jumping each other.

It lasted all night and into early morning, until we both passed out

from total and complete exhaustion. Of course, the sex was once more

exceedingly fabulous, and didn't at all slake my thirst for more of

it. Criminy.

About four in the morning, we were cuddled together like

spoons, when it dawned on me that I had never established why I had

come over.

"Mulder?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are we doing?"

"Enjoying the lassitude of post-coital bliss." Mulder

mumbled lazily into my neck, his hand on my hip continuing to stroke

lightly.

"So wrong." I sighed sleepily, "We shouldn't be doing

this."

That's right, baitin' time.

"I know." Mulder answered back.

Unfortunately, that's all he said before he completely

crashed out, hand stilling on my hip and his nose buried in my hair.

How disappointing. I was no nearer to any sort of

establishment towards these particular events, *and* I had again

strayed from reason and ended up having sex with Mulder after vowing

countless times that I wouldn't. I layed with him for another half-

hour until, prying myself from his arms, I left.

It's utterly fucking unfair. Seriously, he agreed with

me when I said that it was wrong, but was he agreeing just because

*I* said it first, or does he actually *really* think that way? If

so, then why is it that he's the one who usually instigates these

happenings? Is his porno just not working anymore that he had to turn

to me to ease his horniness? Or does he actually want all of me the

way that I do him?

I decided on the drive home that I sincerely did not

want to put up with this petty romantic bullshit anymore. Obviously,

baiting him didn't work. Now I was even more confused. Through

frustrated tears, I vowed to myself that NOTHING of that nature would

even enter my mind ever, EVER again. I am a single, attractive

professional female with way too much on my plate to have to deal

with whether or not someone likes me as much as I do them. Truly, how

very high-school.

My little promise to myself kept for quite a while

after that. In retrospect, it was a personal best considering the

timespace between our other slips of morality.

New Year's 2000 was the trigger that fucked it all up.

He kissed me. Just a chaste little kiss, nothing more, but he had

done it all on his own and didn't even have sex with me that night.

My emotionally deficient heart had craved such a thing,

because it meant more to me that he kissed me and it had'nt turned

into more. In my mind, it seemed that his brain *wanted* to, not his

dick. You know, just to show that maybe he cared. That maybe he

really did love me, and that he hadn't just been using me for sex.

Thoughts of hope seeped into my brain, and my iron wall

of disinterest towards him began to chip away from my veneer. We were

a lot more pleasant towards each other after that. I even flirted a

bit. Allowed myself to get excited again by his attentions. Let the

memories of his tongue back in.

It was inevitable that my misguided mind would have the

effect it did on my libido. Especially after I ran into an old lover

of mine. It gave me reason to actually put into perspective all the

things that Mulder is to me. All the ways he completes me, you know?

That includes "hot beef injections". Oh boy, does it ever.

Mulder came back (after my run in with Daniel) from

Europe after a misguided lead, and once again we ended up at his

place. I had to tell him what happened. I suppose I brought it up to

gauge his reaction on the thougth of me with another man, you know,

to see if he got jealous or at least mentioned *something*.

I was so emotionally and physically strung out that,

despite coffee, I ended up crashing on his couch. The last thing I

remember is the slight feel of Mulder's fingers smoothing my hair

away from my face and a warm blanket covering me before sleep became

my utmost option. I awoke sometime around one in the morning,

completely aroused. So I snuck into his room. He looked so peaceful

lying there, knee brought up to his bare chest and his arm hugging a

pillow, that all the arousal I initially felt quickly doubled. It was

actually quite painful down there, to be perfectly candid about it.

So I climbed in bed with him. And so what I started to

nibble on his mouth? He didn't have to nibble back. But he did, and

it happened again; him nibbling on areas further south on my body, my

sucking on areas in the same region on *his* body in kind, I on my

hands and knees moaning helplessly as he thrust into me from behind.

We did the bad thing at least four times that night. He passed out

around six in the morning, and I (of course) panicked again and left

while he slept peacefully, making my way back home and crashing out

for practically the entire day.

Which brings me to now. It's our last night in Los

Angeles, having been forced to watch that horribly ridiculous

movie 'loosely based on our lives.' We've spent close to a grand so

far of the government's money for our troubles. That included dinner

for two at Spago and dancing at this nightclub on Melrose, which

entailed quite a few strong drinks in it's wake. I still can't help

thinking about that godawful movie, and how they had us no where near

pegged. Skinner is an attractive man, surely, but no. It ain't

happening between us in any lifetime.

Mulder had made a comment on how they had us all wrong

earlier, as well, now that I think about it. He said it with a sad

tone of voice that spoke volumes of the thing we don't talk about.

Crap. I knew I shouldn't have started drinking tonight, but Mulder

and I have been having so much fun. We've jsut bought a six-pack of

Killian's Irish Red from the nearest availiable liquor store and have

made our way up to the Hollywood sign for a gander at the scenery.

Mulder's idea.

Now we're sitting on the hood of the rental, sipping

quietly. Does he realize his hand is on my thigh? It's a fifty-fifty

chance, we have been drinking, after all. Why is this happening

again? I don't think I can take this anymore. So I snap.

"You have to stop." I blurt out, then correct

myself, "*I* have to stop."

"Stop what?" Mulder queries. At least his hand's off

my leg now.

"Everything that we 'don't talk about'." I say,

feeling frustrated, "Honestly Mulder, you're driving me fucking

insane! Never in my life has a man made me ache down there like you

do, and it's just such a tease! I *know* that I can never have you

and it's so stupid of me to have ever even thought that you would

have actual feelings for me other than primal or sisterly in the

first place, so we both JUST HAVE TO STOP! Okay?" I slide off the

hood of the car and do my best to try and stumble away.

Mulder, though twice my size, is just as drunk as I

am, and it takes him a second to soak this information in. I hear him

fall off the hood and stagger in my direction, but I'm in no mood, so

I just keep walking and trying to fight off the tears that begin to

well in my eyes.

All of a sudden he's here, though, grabbing my arm and

turning me to face him in a forceful manner I didn't think he had in

him. So maybe he isn't as drunk as I am. "Did you ever think that

maybe I was scared, Scully?" he slurs, hurt and angry, "That you've

gotten so deep in my system that I can't lose you, no matter what the

cost, so I just kept shoving all of the emotions I had for you aside?

Don't you think it's frustrating for me, too, trying to keep my hands

off?"

Wow. He *is* as affected by this as I am. What a

couple of sadists we are. Awwwww, he's tearing up, too! I think his

bottom lip's even started to quiver a bit. I soften immediately,

moving closer into his arms and wrap mine around his neck. His close

around my waist, and he presses his forehead to mine.

I run a finger along the trembling lower half of his

mouth. "Thank you for not making me think I was the only one going

crazy anymore." I choke out through tears, smiling.

"I love you, Scully." he says, kissing away the

saltwater trails on my face.

At least until I let it all out. Don't get me wrong,

right now I'm happy to the point of ecstatic, but I had already

started to cry, so my body just went with it, and now I'm sobbing

almost uncontrollably, "I...I...really...l-l-love you, t-too." I say

as best I can.

Mulder hugs me closer, stroking my hair and shushing

me, "Promise me from now on we'll be completely honest with each

other?"

I nod, wiping my eyes and grasping his hand in

mine, "That was the only thing we've ever had to hide." I say,

feeling the sleepiness that entails after a crying jag and trying to

supress a yawn.

"Should we go back to the hotel?" Mulder asks in a shy

manner.

I giggle, following him back to the car, "Are you sure

that you aren't just interested in my body, Mulder?" I joke.

"Scully, if that was the case, we would have had a lot

more sex than we had been having." he counters, turning the key in

the ignition.

A familiar tune fills the car, and the both of us

can't help but chuckle as we sing along, "I've got you, under my

skin." he twines his fingers with mine and I kiss his cheek, "I've

got you, deep in the heart of me." I murmur.

"Me too." Mulder chuckles.

End.

Author's note's: The end song, "I've got you (under my skin)" is done

by that ever-pimp 'ol blue eyed male, Frank Sinatra. The story came

about partly on personal experience (very loosely based, my office

romance, if you wanna call it that, was doomed whereas M&S are pre-

ordained for togetherness), and partly because I wondered just when

did they start curating little William Mulder-Scully. The writers on

the show left too much for my overactive imagination to dwell on, and

this, my friends, is the finished product. Questions? Comments? Haul

ass to my e-mail:


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